Twisted You
by Tsumi88
Summary: They're pretty and perverted and for some other reasons they...do it. Ahem. But what happens after that? yaoi, SY
1. The Game Begins

Disclaimer: Not mine larh.

AN: HEY! Not for people who mind a little vulgarity and yaoi-ness. If you're one of those and you're still here… well…     "schu"! Ok, that was lame, on to the story.

The Game Begins

Schuldig downed yet another shot, pressing a hand above his forehead to hold back otherwise unrestrained wild red hair.

Behind him, the slowly shifting mass of bodies pulsated in time to the music blasting from speakers set in every corner of the nightclub, loud enough to deafen, but not nearly loud enough to be clearly heard over a huge crowd of drunken homo sapiens.

Schuldig sighed.

Get totally drunk, get a partner, get laid. That was his plan for the night. 

It wasn't going to happen, though; no one wanted to approach the dangerous, angry-looking redhead with a deep scowl etched into already sharp features.

Oh well. Can't be helped. Schuldig just couldn't manage to look pleasant when he was downright pissed. It was hard enough even if he did feel pleased.

Getting drunk, however, was accomplishable. The German lifted another mug to his lips, swallowing the liquid quickly, savoring the burning trail that led all the way from the back of his throat to the pit of his stomach. Feeling a little buzzed already, he knew it wouldn't be long before oblivion. 

Then he would wait for Nagi to drag his unconscious ass home, on instructions from Crawford, of course.

The redhead frowned. Oh yeah, Crawford. That was the reason why he was trying to pass out. The American had once again effectively proven that he had a two-by-four wedged up his ass.

Or at least, Schuldig felt that was the only plausible theory.

Others included the 'Brad-is-actually-really-concerned-about-me' hypothesis, and the famous 'Brad-is-actually-an-eternally-PMSing-woman' one.

In any case, neither of them made a good excuse for anal behaviour, especially not when Schuldig's left cheekbone was bruised and hurt, courtesy of one Mr. Bradly Crawford and his hard, hard knuckles.

Schuldig scowled at his own distorted image in the glass mug. As bad as the lighting was, he could still see the bluish-black discolouration below his eye and spread a good area over his face.

Maybe that was why no one hit on him after all. Or maybe it was the bloodstain on the thigh of his white trousers that did it. Or maybe it was just the way he looked…

Realising that he was starting to get all tensed up, he forced himself to relax his rigid shoulders and calm down.

No way was he letting Crawford ruin his night.

And that was when Schuldig decided, the hell with it. He would just con someone into spending a night of cheap, hot sex with him in a dingy motel room.

He never considered himself to be a person of high morals anyway.

Letting his eyes slide shut, Schuldig carelessly scanned the area for a suitable candidate. The lucky person would have to be drunk enough to be simple to manipulate and must also be attractive.

Gender didn't matter much. 

_Let's see…one pretty brunette…she's with a partner, though. Don't wanna do 'em both…a redheaded uke-type guy…not too good-looking…this one's cute, but short and muscular, not my type…one Balinese kitten…ok, moving on…_

Wait a minute… 

**_Weiss_**_!****_

Schuldig quickly restrained himself from spitting his beer all over the beefy bartender. Damn! So much for relaxation. He didn't doubt he _could_ take on an armed kitty without a good weapon – Kudou brought his stupid watch everywhere he went and Schuldig's gun was on the backseat of his car – but Schuldig also happened to have a shot, bandaged leg and was half-drunk.

It seemed like the odds were against him.

Great. So what could he do? What could _Kudou_ do, come to think of it? He couldn't attack the German, they were in a public place…

Schuldig decided to sit just right where he was. Cautiously, he probed Kudou's mind a little deeper. The blonde was slowly grinding his hips against a male partners' just fifteen feet or so away from Schuldig. The only reason why they hadn't spotted each other yet was the people packed into the space between them.

And the kitten was thinking about getting fucked senseless by this guy.

Schuldig was hardly surprised. He already knew, from prior 'visits' into Kudou's pretty little head, that he wasn't completely heterosexual, despite how he acted in front of his fellow flower pals. Having already established that he wasn't going to slink out of the back door like some poor, helpless prey, Schuldig, who wasn't getting any, thought he might as well watch the show.

After all, Kudou wasn't that ugly. 

Slipping himself into the untrained mind of Kudou's current partner, he watched the show through his borrowed sight. 

And it _was_ quite a performance, too.

The blonde had detached himself from the man's groin in order to flaunt his other, humping-exclusive assets. Kudou did know oh so well how to best present his long, wiry body. He wasn't dancing as much as tossing his hair and making the muscles in his exposed abdomen ripple. He seemed even more beautiful than he already was in the dim light, which accentuated his wonderful sparkling green eyes and the light, alcohol-induced flush on his cheeks.

When he spun around and, with a teasing wiggle, pressed his behind against his partner and started to rock, Schuldig forgot to pull himself out. With mild horror, because this was the enemy, Schuldig felt the beginnings of his own hard-on as firm, rounded flesh ground against him…no, it was against the other man, but who really cared?

He groaned in dismay as Kudou pulled away…heard a question slip from soft, full lips…

"…my place, or a motel?"

And then they were leaving. 

Schuldig slid off his barstool, giving in to another one of his crazy, irrational impulses. Using his telepathy to keep the crowd away and prevent Kudou from looking back, he was soon following the white convertible in his bright red sports car. 

It took a little effort to suggest to Kudou's mind that the vehicle was not at all conspicuous.

The trip was thankfully short, and Schuldig stayed behind, waiting while Seven was being parked in front of a small flat, and the two of them stumbled out, groping and squeezing. Kudou owned one of the apartments, and he thought of it as a sort of safe house.

It was, in fact, just a place with a nice bed that he could bring people in to screw every night he didn't have a mission. He couldn't introduce strangers into the Koneko…too dangerous. And especially because, Kudou thought, the chibi could stumble in on them any time.

Schuldig snorted, climbing out of his car and walking into the darkness of the alley between the flat and a much taller building. He did have that problem too, and it arose from living with a cruel prick of a boss, a psychotic madman, and a kid whom he knew was hardly innocent, but looked too damn cute to corrupt. His solution was motels, but he supposed it was kind of nice to wake up in a familiar bed once in a while.

The German looked up at Kudou's curtains, once again entering his partner's mind, but focusing on the sensations this time. 

[I think this part that I took out is considered NC-17. I have this fic on mm.org as well, and it's uncensored… but it's a really short part and not essential to the story and I bet you've probably read a lot of this kind of material anyway, so…]

The blinding whiteness behind his eyelids slowly faded, and Schuldig realised that he was trembling slightly and leaning heavily on the dirty wall. With a small moan of protest, he forced his body to stand and zipped and fastened his pants with shaking hands. He didn't think that the pair upstairs, caught in their own orgasms, had heard him. 

Straightening after another moment of recovery, he strolled deliberately to his car, reflecting that the next few months of his life were going to be _fun_.

Don't go yet. I need encouragement. Or flaming. Whichever.


	2. Then and Now

A/N: Exams are coming! And I'm… well, I'm… err… practising for the English paper! Yeah, that's it…

Yohji whistled as he strolled into the Koneko, only fifteen minutes late for his afternoon shift.

Ken glared at him from behind the counter when he thought the customers weren't looking. "You're late. Again," he hissed.

Unruffled by the amateurish Evil Eye, Yohji only grinned and reached out a hand to playfully muss Ken's untidy brown locks. "So you ought to get used to it already."

And then he went right for the door which led to their kitchen and stairs.

"Wha…Yohji!"

"I'm just gonna change and have breakfast, Kenken. Don't worry, I won't miss the schoolgirl mob!"

"_Yohji_!" Ken cried out again, indignantly this time.

A customer dumped a bouquet and some bills onto the counter though, and the Ken mentally cursed all the lazy, irresponsible blondes in this god-forsaken world as he counted out the change and printed a small receipt for the lady.

Yohji slid open his drawer and rummaged through the contents within until he found it. 

It was the book that everyone knew about, and spoke about with varying degrees of awe, disappointment, and disgust. It was the book that contained the names and contacts of people that Yohji thought were pretty enough to have sex with someday.

And it was, appropriately, black.

Flipping through a few pages, the blonde tried to find the description of a suitable female who wouldn't mind just sleeping with him. Weiss would be having a mission that night, and Yohji wouldn't have the time to go pick up someone from a club. 

He'd decided, also, that he wasn't going to be too keen on guys for the next few days. That guy last night totally sucked. He wasn't good enough at it, was all too rough, and had left before Yohji had woken up.

Just the latter was enough to earn him a big black cross beside his name. Yohji liked to wake up cuddled next to someone, not all alone in a huge bed with semen-stained sheets.

And he did admit he was using them, just like they did him. Even if it was true that he wanted a source of human warmth as much as someone to just fuck, it didn't change the fact that he felt no affection whatsoever for them.

It was a contradiction, sort of; he wanted warmth and comfort, yet he could hardly bring himself to even really care about them.

Well, at least he could safely say that he wasn't a total whore.

Yohji decided he would call up Miyuki, a pretty, petite blonde that he vaguely remembered. But she could wait. Right now, he was going to take a shower and then have his breakfast.

He really doubted that anyone would pass up a chance at Yohji Kudou, anyway.

Shutting the book, he threw it carelessly onto the small table already cluttered with random rubbish and got off the bed, nearly stepping right onto the dried cattleya flower.

_Oh, yeah. That._

It was a gift he'd gotten from…someone he'd met at a club, a long time ago.

_Yohji was waiting at the bar for his date. Who was late. Or wasn't coming, but damn it, no one was going to stand him up._

_Someone slid onto the stool beside him and, out of simple curiosity, he turned to look. _

_He certainly wasn't someone Yohji had ever seen before. The blonde didn't think he could easily forget the most obvious thing in Tokyo._

_The poor guy stood out like a sore thumb, like a rose in a sea of poppies, like a…like a long-haired redhead in the middle of a Japanese city._

_But he wasn't bad-looking. His fiery hair fell a few inches short of his waist, his body was long and lean and toned, and his face was a little too sharp and angular, but he was pretty, in his own way._

_As Yohji stared, the guy turned his head and smirked at him. Yohji quickly turned his gaze away, fighting the slight urge to blush. It wasn't often that he was caught looking so intently at someone he wasn't flirting with._

_"Hey Blondie. What's your name?"_

_Yohji frowned, not liking to be called that. It made him sound stupid._

_"Hi, Red, you can call me Yohji. What about you?"_

_The redhead did it again. The smug, self-satisfied upward twist of his lips was both repulsive and strangely compelling._

_"What about me?"_

_"What is your name?"_

_"I don't feel like telling you."_

_And Yohji was suddenly very irritated with this obnoxious man, and he turned away once more, determined to ignore him. _

_That was strange, too. It wasn't often that he got offended or discouraged by something so trivial. Had it been anyone else, he would probably be trying to squeeze the information out with sweet talking and other oily techniques._

_"Oi, kitty-cat."_

_"What?" Yohji responded without much prior thought, and immediately regretted it. "Why did you call me that?"_

_"If you were a kitten, I guess you would be Siamese."_

_"Huh?" Yohji replied intelligently._

_"Tall and sleek and pretty. But you're long-haired too, so maybe not."_

_Yohji opted for silence._

_The redhead pressed a leather-clad finger to his lips thoughtfully, then his smirk widened, to the point whereby it started to look almost malicious._

_"I guess…that would make you a Balinese, huh?"_

_Time seemed to slow down as Yohji's brain processed this bit of information. Then the shock and irrational fear of being discovered filtered through, and Yohji could only stare helplessly into unfathomable emerald depths and that awful, awful smirk. _

_And suddenly the redhead was behind him, gently pushing his open jaw into place, brushing something velvety over his cheek, slipping it into the breast pocket of his jacket and whispering in his ear._

_"_I'll be seeing you around, Balinese_."_

_When Yohji finally snapped out of his prolonged daze, the redhead had already disappeared into the crowd._

Later, the blonde had returned to his apartment above Koneko expecting a sleepless, restless night, because his date, whom he sincerely wished had been run down by a truck, hadn't turned up.

Then Yohji flung his jacket off and onto the floor, and the little purple orchid had tumbled out.

It was his favourite flower, and it was from a pretty, albeit infuriating, mysterious and freaky redhead. So Yohji had kept it between two blank pages of his black book, in place of a name.

And after that, he lay curled in a foetal position on one side of the king-sized bed, wondering how the stranger knew about Balinese. It had scared him. He had thought the redhead knew of his other identity, impossible as it seemed…and that superior, knowing smirk hadn't helped any. 

It was an unsettling encounter, but also made him feel oddly comforted, as though the fact that he killed for a living wasn't so anomalous, wasn't so repelling. In the end, before he fell into a dreamless sleep, he had decided that the stranger was someone safe. Someone who knew all his dark secrets, but wouldn't push him away.

On hindsight, Schuldig had probably already known he was the enemy, and was trying to dick him around by getting him all confused and afraid.

Scooping up the wrinkled, brownish cattleya with one hand, Yohji put in once more between those two pages now marked with the faint silhouette of the flower. 

Before, he hadn't known it was from his mortal enemy. After, he had simply forgotten. This time, he was going to save it for the day when Schuldig made him really mad, then he was going to have lots of fun shredding it.

Ken fidgeted nervously. Ten more minutes and the screeching horde of teenage girls would be here. He hoped to God that he would never have to face them alone.

He considered going upstairs to yell at Yohji's door, but he couldn't because he was the only one in the shop, because Aya was away to somewhere that none of them knew about, because they didn't dare to ask, because they hated to be impaled by a katana, and because Omi was at school, and because someone needed to tend the register!

Ken moaned, and wished Yohji had just one ounce of responsibility in him.

And he also wished that Yohji would spend his nights with them. Well, not really _with them_, but in his room above Ken's where he belonged.

There was a time when Yohji always stumbled in in the middle of the night, sometimes too drunk to walk by himself, and Ken would be the one to help him up to his room. He didn't suppose Aya cared much, and he didn't think Omi could handle Yohji's weight, so he would always be the one that woke up at unearthly hours. 

Of course he was pissed at the blonde for being an inconsiderate alcoholic, but at least he knew where Yohji was.

He guessed the blonde would think that he was doing Ken a favour by sleeping overnight in motels or whatever – Ken fervently hoped he wasn't stupid enough to pass out in strangers' places – but he was really more concerned about the safety of his best buddy.

Yohji was irritating and thoughtless and liked to tease them relentlessly, but those kind of things made him endearing.

He really should quit some of his more unhealthy habits, though.

Like being late.

And Ken missed the days when he could pound on Yohji's door at seven in the morning.

"Hey! Everyone's favourite Yohji-kun is here," a familiar voice drawled out.

Ken turned to grin at him, and was rewarded with a real, friendly smile that made him feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

Then a chorus of high-pitched screams sounded through the glass of the shop, and it was time to face what was left of the day.

TBC

All comments are welcome…


	3. On a Mission

Disclaimer: Weiß is not mine. Neither is Schwarz. I don't think I want Schreiend or Takatoris or SS or Kritiker.

Schuldig winced as he placed some weight on his injured foot and felt sharp pain course through his thigh. Not only had he gotten shot on a mission, he also had to listen to Crawford's rambling. Although he supposed he should grateful because Brad had decided that his stupidity did not warrant a punishment.

His own sharp tongue had nearly gotten him into trouble, though.

"What? I made a wrong judgment. So? I thought no one was perfect. Or maybe you expected more, Braddie-baby?"

Crawford had taken off his glasses and was cleaning them with a small cloth. His cold brown eyes glared harshly. "You are impudent and rebellious."

"Impulsive and thoughtless." Crawford continued to highlight Schuldig's many flaws, never mind that he knew them all too well already. "Not to mention the fact that you have a distinct lack of a brain."

"Maybe you should have thought to check my head for signs of higher mental function before you dumped me into this team."

"I do regret not foreseeing that. I suppose it made perfect sense for you to run straight into the line enemy fire."

All right. So it was a little dumb.

"Well, I thought we were supposed to complete every mission or die trying?"

Crawford put on his glasses, and the light reflected off it hid his eyes. "I said that, yes, but it didn't mean that we're a suicide team. Yesterday we could have waited for a better chance-"

"I sorry that I don't have any precognitive powers, Brad."

Crawford's face was completely expressionless, and betrayed no sign of annoyance, despite the violent anger that Schuldig could almost sense. "A few more missions, a bit more carelessness and recklessness, and you'll get yourself killed."

Unfazed by the ominous prediction, the redhead placed a hand delicately on his chest and said in a mock stiletto, "Oh, Bradley! I'm so touched! I didn't know you cared."

"You're right; I don't care," Crawford informed him in a low, dangerous voice. "If I ever see the need to get a new telepath and I'll kill you myself, before they get you, and worry about lengthy procedures later."

"Christ, Brad! You need to get laid, fast. Although I don't see anyone who'd want to. Maybe you ought to remove that huge stick I know you've got shoved up your ass before-"

Crawford stood abruptly and landed a vicious backhand across Schuldig's face, right at the spot that he had hit him the previous night. He shifted his head such that his glasses no longer caught the light, and looked down at his subordinate with frozen, narrowed eyes.

Schuldig pushed himself up on his elbows so he could glower back. His cheekbone felt like it was fractured, and it hurt like hell, but he refused to touch it, to acknowledge the injury. 

For a moment there, Schuldig thought that Crawford really would kill him for revealing one of his upsetting theories about the American. After a drawn-out staring contest, however, Crawford had just walked away, damn that man.

Ignoring the pain in his thigh, which was only just grazed, not really shot – what the hell was Mr. Anal-retentive getting so worked up about? – and abused cheek, Schuldig stood in the shadows of a dilapidated old mansion and waited.

His face wasn't permanently damaged, thank God, and Schu-schu was going to have some fun.

"Go!"

Upon hearing Omi's cue from their communicators, Aya and Yohji ran from their hiding places to the second entrance of the mansion, quickly taking out four guards. At the other side of the building, Ken and Omi were doing the same.

In a flash of thin filament and a three feet long piece of sharp metal, the guards inside were gone as well. A long hallway and five more dead men later, they encountered a stairway. Aya nodded, and Yohji went up while Abyssinian continued to search the ground floor.

Their mission tonight was to assassinate a drug lord, and find and destroy his stash of imported Ecstasy. Simple, routine, boring, but apparently, they had more meaty hunks of security than Kritiker had informed them. Typical, really, but it still pissed Yohji off.

Pressing his ear to a shut door, the blond quickly determined that there was no one inside. As he was going further along the corridor, a pair of strong arms suddenly wrapped around him. Struggling and flailing blindly, Yohji managed to hit something behind him with his fist.

There was a pained yelp, and Yohji broke free of the loosened embrace, turning swiftly to face his enemy. His first thought was, 'oh damn'. The psychotic telepath of Schwarz scowled back at him.

His next thought was, 'oh wow'. He didn't think he'd hit Schuldig's face that hard.

When the third thought finally occurred to Yohji, he spoke into his mouthpiece, "Guys, trouble. We've got Schw- Hey!"

In a movement too fast to be seen, Schuldig's hand shot out and crushed the mouthpiece. Suddenly, there was a patter of hurried footsteps from down the corridor, too many to be either of their teammates. And from the sound of it, they were coming really fast too.

Well. Speedy thinking was never Yohji's expertise.

Therefore, without much consideration, he opened the door, which was unlocked, and pulled Schuldig in after him. The room was quite bare, with the exception of a closet-like piece of furniture. No windows, no other doors.

Yohji pushed the redhead into the cupboard and squeezed in himself, turning such that he could pull the wooden doors shut. 

It had looked like one of those things used to store cleaning equipment, but that was apparently history, as it was totally empty. It was also surprisingly tall, although rather shallow, and there were no other hiding places, so…

So that was how Yohji ended up stuck in a cramped place with his knees bent sideways and his back pressed against his redheaded nemesis' chest.

Great.

Yohji wondered briefly why he had, on impulse, tried to save his enemy. At least Schuldig wasn't attempting to shoot him. He hoped not.

"Mm…you know, this isn't too bad," a voice purred into his ear and hands brushed his clothed thighs.

Yohji shoved the wandering appendages away roughly.

"Tell me if someone is going to bust open this door. Or when there are no enemies around," the Japanese ordered coldly, then added as an afterthought. "Other than you, that is."

This was turning out to be much more fun than Schuldig had expected. "Hmm, what do I get for doing that?"

"How about some candy and a pat on the head?"

Sarcasm. How lovely.

"I was thinking about something more interesting…"

"Aya can do ikebana."

"What about a night of private screaming and sweating?"

"I could get you one of my dates…"

"I meant with you."

"No!"

"Then I'm not helping you."

"Why the hell not!" Yohji demanded in what he hoped was a discreet whisper. "You're in the same situation as I am, here…"

"Ah, but you'd get shot first. That's enough time for me to react."

"And besides you wouldn't want to be stuck in this stupid, tiny cupboard…"

/But maybe I do, Kätzchen./__

Yohji could practically _smell_ the damn German's wide smirk stinking up the already oxygen-deprived air. Gritting his teeth and valiantly resisting the urge to pout, Yohji shifted, trying to place his right hand over that special switch on his watch.

_Can't._

_There was never enough space in this wretched thing in the first place, and I always knew Schuldig's ego was wayyyyy too large to be healthy, not to mention the fact that he's _goddamn **_fat_**.

Surprising, there wasn't a cutting reply to Yohji's little mental tirade. Grumbling softly, the blond wiggled, attempting the impossible. He just couldn't squeeze his hands in front of his body, and he couldn't bend them at the sides to connect them over his head either…not that there was any space above him to begin with.

Ignoring the totally unhelpful sharp intake of breath right behind his ear, Yohji squirmed a few more times before giving up. "Okay, Schuldig, listen. I can't use my weapon, so you'll have to – **_WHAT THE HELL!_**" 

Yohji thrashed wildly, nearly flinging open the door and dashing to the nearest trauma therapist, screeching all the way. Never mind the legions of unfriendly people dressed in black and carrying big guns.

/_Yohji! Calm down!_/

/_Calm down?_ **_Calm down?_** You try doing that when some bloodthirsty psycho is pressing his erection against _your_ ass!/ Yohji thought back fiercely, but was thankfully keeping quiet, at least.

/I can't really help it. You do have a hot behind./

Apparently, this was an absolutely logical explanation for Yohji, because the Japanese stopped his frantic writhing, which had only been – by the way – making it worse.

Sighing, Schuldig scanned the surrounding area and efficiently erased the memories of those who had heard muffled screaming and thumping.

Of course, he had done some manipulation earlier to stop them from investigating the man-sized cupboard standing in the middle of the far wall in a room without windows or exits. If he hadn't done something, one of the guards would surely have found them already.

Ah, the things he would do for a little fling with the kitten. And he fully intended it to be a one-night thing. Or a few nights, depending on how good Yohji really was.

Besides, the sex wasn't really the point of the whole affair. Schuldig really only wanted the satisfaction of knowing the things he could make his enemy do. This way, it would be much more fun than just 'cheating' by using his goddamn powers.

He could feel it already. The dark thrill of control, power, manipulation. Being able to use someone like an obedient little puppet. Schuldig could see how Crawford got his pleasure from ordering them around.

/Schuldig? Can we get out of here now?/

The redhead frowned. They could have gotten out of there without being shot to pieces fifteen minutes ago, but he hadn't minded the situation too much. Deciding that it was hard to think depressing, sadistic thoughts when Yohji's body was molded against his, Schuldig thought he'd let him go.

/Ja./

Opening the door a fraction of an inch, Yohji peeked out cautiously.

Schuldig rolled his eyes. "I already said there's no one out there! I wouldn't want to kill my current favourite toy, anyway."

Giving Schuldig a dirty look that went to waste because of poor lighting, Yohji stepped out and was mildly surprised when a hole didn't appear in his body. _Okay, what the hell do I do now?_

"Your teammates have already gotten most of the guards. Now they are looking for your target and the drugs."

Yohji growled. "Why are you doing this? You're not on a Schwarz mission so what are you here for?"

Schuldig grinned. "I thought it was pretty clear what I wanted."

"And you're not getting it," Yohji announced, walking out of the room, then whirling back when Schuldig went after him. "Don't follow me."

The German held up his hands in a mock gesture of compliance. "I'm not following you anywhere. In fact, I'm getting the hell out of here now. Your fellow kitties are chasing the target right this way."

Suddenly, Schuldig fisted a hand in his hair and was pressing their lips together. Yohji tried to protest, but ended up having an extra tongue in his mouth. When it occurred to him to bite, Schuldig had already let go.

An address of a café flashed through his mind. /See you there tomorrow, Kudou./

Yohji was about to comment that Schuldig must be really demented if he sincerely thought that the blonde was showing up when he heard distant gunshots and yelling. And Schuldig was leaving anyway so Yohji turned his attention away and fiddled with his watch, waiting for the enemy.

Tbc…

Okay, okay, really lousy anti-climax ending there. But the rest of it wasn't too bad… right? Please review this thing. Oh, yeah, if all goes well, Yo-chan and Schu-chan will be having sex next chapter. ^_^ Is that too soon? And er, I'll try to make it not NC-17. Again: review, please!


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